The Deal
by Urchin757
Summary: It's been said before, but no man is an island. No matter how hard he may try to disconnect from this world sometimes he is drawn back in unexpected ways. Haymitch is beginning to know this all to well.
1. Prologue

I am running. My body flies through the trees and my breath enters my lungs in one smooth draw and exits in the same fashion. I can feel the wind against my skin and it seems like I am barely touching the ground as I move along. My whole being is focused on the path in front of me and each footfall lands with confidence. I am following something, someone, who passes between the trees and stays just out of reach. I can't quite make them out and I struggle to speed up to catch them. My brain tells my legs to move faster but they won't cooperate. I am simply unable to overtake whoever I am tracking. The panic begins slowly in my chest and spreads into my arms and down my legs. My breathing starts to break and suddenly I feel like my lungs are empty of air. My limbs begin to tremble and I slow down trying to catch my breath but it doesn't come. I start to panic, trying to get a breath, and then the sharp bangs draw my head up and I open my eyes.

I am lying in my bed, clutching a pillow in my arms and my body curled into a protective fetal position. I have a death grip on the pillow, my body is covered in cold sweat, and the blankets are in a pile at the end of the bed. My heart is still pounding in my chest as if I had really been running and it takes me a few moments to fully come back from the dream I had been lost in. Another round of bangs on the front door sink me back firmly into reality and I sit up, rubbing my arms to ward off the chill that is setting in from the cold air against my skin. There's only one person who would be at our door this late at night seeking their fix to check out of this world.

While I'm grabbing a sweater off the chair next to my bed I see my grandmother begin to rise from the bed just across from mine where she sleeps, pushing herself up on her one arm and blinking the sleep from her eyes. "It's all right," I whisper, "I'll see to him." She smiles and murmurs a grateful reply as she lies back down, asleep again before her head hits the pillow. I pull the itchy sweater over myself and clamp my arms around my torso to head out into the main room, the bangs growing more persistent as I do. I groan quietly to myself as I cross the small living space and place my hand on the doorknob. He must hear the slight click when I do because the banging stops and I can hear his ragged breathing behind the wood panels. I open the door just a crack, peeking out at the crystalline grey eyes that are eager to be received.

"You can't keep doing this, Haymitch," I say to the eyes and they grin at me but I refuse to open the door any more at the moment. "You can't keep running out here in the middle of the night every time you run out."

"Come on, I thought I could make it till morning," he says, holding up a small pouch that I know is brimming with coins. "Anyways, I've brought presents." He doesn't slur his words and his voice has an edge to it that tips me off as to how far into the withdrawal he is. I decide it's probably better to satisfy his craving rather than teach him a lesson.

"She keeps a regular stall in the The Hobb for a reason," I say, opening the door enough to let him in and making sure he closes it behind himself. "You should really learn to plan for moments like this."

"Whatever," he says and tosses the pouch onto our small table while he heads over to the hearth where the last of the still flickering coals linger into the night. I go to the corner and easily shift a large trunk to reveal a trap door in the floor. Opening the door I am met by the constant temperature of the hole that's been dug into the ground beneath our tiny house, it works perfectly to keep the neatly packed bottles of liquor a constant temperature, a trick that my grandmother picked up from her father, the original moonshiner of the family. I pull out four bottles, Haymitch's usual haul, and line them up on the floor before closing the trap door and scooting the trunk back over it. I take them over to the table where I set them in a neat row and empty the coins onto the table to make sure he brought enough, though we both know it's more of a formality than anything as he's been buying the liquor for so long he must know how much it costs better than anyone else.

"Fine then," I say and put the coins back into the bag. He nods and scoops up a bottle to take a long pull before leaving. He lets out a satisfied noise once he's had a good swig and smiles congenially at me. I just stare at him. He looks at me over the lip of the bottle for a good minute, like he's considering something about me, about the situation, but in the end decides better of himself and makes a move to leave. I am relieved to have him on his way.

"Pleasure," he says, his words practically dripping with sarcasm as he takes up the rest of the bottles and heads towards the front door. "It's always fine to do business with you."

"Go find someone else to annoy," I say under my breath and I let him out and shut the door quickly behind him. I can hear him laughing on the porch but I am already turned back towards the living room and crossing quickly to the linter room where we sleep. Before I know it I am back in my tiny bed, drawing the blankets back up over my already shivering body and closing my eyes trying desperately not to see the trees again, not to be running after someone I know I'll never catch.

When I wake up again it's to be greeted by the pale winter sun sifting through the thin cloth over the window pane. I slept all the way through the rest of the night, my dreams giving me a break for the moment. Most everyone in the Seam has nightmares of one form or another. To not have them is the true exception. We are all haunted in some way.

The bed across from me is empty and I can smell breakfast on the morning air. My grandmother has been up for who knows how long and I am silently grateful that she let me sleep in. "Ugh," I think to myself at the memory of the night before. It was the third time this month that Haymitch had nearly beaten in our door. Another thing to be grateful for because today he will be leaving on the Victory Tour and we will get a few weeks of peaceful nights. Though he is one of our best customers, I loathe having to deal with the man. He has respect for my grandmother but seems to withhold it from me. He must suspect that my interactions are laced by contempt.

But, as I am reminded, at the end of the day Haymitch's appearances whether in the Hobb or in the middle of the night will mean that we will be able to afford to feed ourselves another day. To survive another day.

I sit up, still wearing the sweater from the night before and settle my stockinged feet on the freezing floorboards. I breathe in a deep sigh and decided I might as well get started with the day.


	2. Chapter 1

There is a certain heavy stillness that comes just before a storm hits. It thickens the air making it settle on everyone's shoulders, pushing us further into the depths than we already are. It knits our brows together in mental exercises of lists to see if we are ready for the coming weather. It causes more worry in a place that it is overflowing with the stuff. I can see it on the faces of the people around me and I've already run through my own preparations. I've counted off the stacked firewood, inventoried the meager food supply, and double checked that our stock is good and hidden. My grandmother stirs on her stool beside me, muttering about how deep the cold is.

"Catch me all the way to my bones, it does," she says with a wry smile. I grin back at her. Any change from the weather to the conditions in the mines to the mood in the Capitol can apparently be felt in my grandmother's bones.

"Same way you still think your arm itches in the morning?" I tease her gently.

"Hah," she gives a small laugh, "Better my arm than a whole husband."

I agree with a small sigh followed by silence. Yes, it was better to lose a limb than an entire someone you loved. At least this way you could manage to find a way to carry on with things whereas burying someone that deep in the earth never let's go of your heart. We would have marked our ten year anniversary now if he had lived. We were young when we were married and then he was lost that awful day five years ago that took so many lives. So now at 28 I found myself a widow living with my grandmother and helping her sell liquor in the black market. Well, at least I had no children to see into this state. In that sense we had been lucky.

I can joke with my grandmother about it now, but there are moments when it still stings especially with the oppressive storm hanging over us all. She must sense my heavy heart and gives my knee a gentle pat.

"Nell," she says, using my pet name, "Be a bless and grab us a couple bowls of soup." She slides a couple coins on the counter towards me and I am grateful for the distraction of an errand and the promise of a hot meal that will warm me through. I cinch my old coat tighter around myself, scoop the coins into my hand and give her a pat on the shoulder as I exit the stall to venture across the Hobb to Greasy Sae's. I don't quite recognize every ingredient in today's concoction but I know better than to ask. It will be satisfying no matter what it is.

"Nellis," Greasy Sae says warmly, "How goes it?"

"Same as always," I reply as she dishes up the soup for me and I lay the money on the counter.

"Will you tell Ripper to come by later," she says, more of a statement than a question. "I need to bend her ear over something."

"Course," I say and nod goodbye as I head back towards our stall taking a lot of care to ensure I don't spill any of the precious food. Back at the table my grandmother is deep in dealings with Head Peacekeeper Cray. Just the sight of him makes my skin crawl. I hate the man and refuse any kind of interaction with him.

Soon after my husband passed when I was trying to find a way to get by on my own he'd cornered me one evening in an alleyway as I was headed home. My back pressed against the wall and his filthy hands on my upper arms he'd made the not so subtle suggestion that I could always find favor at his backdoor. His breath had reeked of liquor and a smile played over his puffy, red face. With a final whisper he tucked a few final stray pieces of hair behind my ear and then he left me there, keeling over from nausea and my head reeling. Once I'd collected myself I changed direction from my home and went instead to the only person I had left in the world, my grandmother, known to everyone as Ripper. She took me in and I've been under her wing ever since.

I think of that night whenever he is around and the white hot anger I still feel courses through me and I keep a good distance between us. As the years went by he seemed to lose some interest in me I'm sure preferring the younger women who still pawed his door. But there are still times when I catch him watching me in the Hobb and I can only stare back with all the hatred I can muster.

He slips away from the stall, tucking the liquor bottles into his pockets and I slip inside and plunk the soup down on the counter.

"Easy, girl," my grandmother says, taking up a spoon. "He pays the bills just the same as the others."

"Still," I say, watching the retreating form, "I wish you wouldn't sell to him." We eat in silence, savoring the warmth that spreads through our entire bodies.

"Gotta eat don't we?"

"I suppose," I said, she smiles at me and we both know that she's right and that I just need to deal with it. I haven't told her about what happened, it would only burden her and we there is already so much weighing on us.

I remember Greasy Sae's request and my grandmother heads off to return the bowls and visit for a minute. She stacks them one inside the other and puts the spoons in them so she can carry them at the same time. I watch her hobble off, making her way, laughing with people she knows, hassling those she cares about. She's part of the fabric of this place, an integral thread of the tapestry that is our little community. I'm still staring after her when there's a small knock on the counter top and I am pulled back to the present. Haymitch is standing in front of me, a few wisps of snow still clinging to his light hair.

"What," I say my tone more than a little annoyed.

"Good to see you, too," he answers, sarcasm dripping off of every word. I open my mouth to comment back but he's turned his head and is distracted by something. There's some kind of buzz heading up and down the rows of stalls, passing from one person to another in hushed whispers. Suddenly people are hurrying to close up shop and pack themselves away, to make themselves scarce. Haymitch looks confused and I rise from my stool to get a better look at what's going on.

"Aye, you've got to accept my apologies, Haymitch," my grandmother says, appearing suddenly by my side. "We've got to be going, you see." She nods towards the others making it clear that we've got to do the same.

"Ripper," Haymitch says, "What's going on?"

"Some kind of commotion in the square," she says while we pack away our things into a small handcart. "All the Peacekeepers were called down there and if you ask me it's probably not the time to be found around these parts."

Haymitch nods and backs away with one last look in my direction. Our eyes connect for a moment and I feel a quiet sense of urgency in his, a fear of something that I have no previous experience in. Something very bad is happening down in the square, that much I can tell, and whatever it is it seems as if Haymitch is deciding to throw himself into the thick of it.


End file.
